


Trouble

by saddle_tramp



Series: The World Belongs To Me [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub Undertones, Get Together, Language, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddle_tramp/pseuds/saddle_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings: Nothing except language and very minor D/s behaviors<br/>Fandom:  Slightly AU Marvel Movies Universe with some elements from the comics<br/>Spoilers:  Iron Man, Iron Man 2, and Thor, and use of a minor canon from the 2012 Marvel comic Battle Scars.</p><p>Minor Characters: Mentions of Pink (aka Alecia), Natasha Romanov, Maria Hill, Pepper Potts, Agent Jasper Sitwell, and Tony Stark, not necessarily in that order.</p><p> </p><p>  Phil prides himself on his professionalism and his impartiality on the job, but he tries not to get overly upset with himself on the rare occasion when he lets both lapse a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt by zoe_says_hi on the Avengers 2012 Comment Fic Fest on Live Journal:  
> Prompt: Clint - Something inspired by the video to P!nk's song "Trouble". [snipped for length] Yes, the sheriff is Jeremy Renner. Since I discovered that, I've been craving some crack related to the video (I was laughing the whole time thinking "No, Clint! You're better than that!").
> 
> I didn’t quite get most of the prompt in there, but reading it and watching the video inspired me to start this behemoth of a 'verse, so I want to credit zoe_says_hi anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> Sons of Notes:  
> Okay, so my timeline for the video is borked, especially as far as the filming date goes, I know this, but just pretend you don’t notice, ’kay? Thanks! 
> 
> In an attempt to reconcile a few elements of comic canon and movie canon (Which is pretty much impossible with every Marvel movie ever, I know, but bear with me. lol), I’m assuming that the events in the 2012 six-issue Marvel comic _Battle Scars_ occurred early-on during Operation Desert Storm, which makes the movie-canon age difference between three key characters in the Marvel universe work out. We’ll just hand-wave the fact that a certain character in that comic was not alive at that time in the movie ‘verse, and forget all about him. Anyway! I used the background given in _Battle Scars_ for two of the characters here, so be aware there are minor spoilers for non-plot related character background details given in that story.
> 
> Within the Marvel movie ‘verse timeline, this story falls after _Iron Man 2_ and _Thor_ but before _Captain America_. There are spoilers if you haven’t seen _Iron Man_ , _Iron Man 2_ , or _Thor_ , but seriously… Why would you read this if you haven’t seen the movies that made so many people love Coulson? ;-D
> 
> As far as the new Avengers movie, I am 99.9% certain I didn’t accidentally include any spoilers. Some tiny detail might have snuck into my headcanon, but I’m sure it’s nothing major if only because this is set over a month before the events in that movie began, but I’m still very sorry if I included some tiny minor detail accidentally. I wouldn’t spoil anyone on purpose for the world, and I went over this six times editing and checking for spoilers, so hopefully I’m right that there’s nothing here. :-)
> 
> In regard to Natasha’s last name, I tried for hours one night to find how fandom decided exactly what it is. On AO3 and in most fics I have read on LJ or DW it seems to be widely accepted as Romanov, not Romanoff, and it makes more sense to me considering her ‘real name’ is Romanova in comics-canon, so I’m going with it.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Anything I borrowed here is property of Marvel and so not mine, I'm just borrowing their characters to let them have some fun. Anyone you don't recognize might be mine, but then again they might just be so obscure no one but me ever noticed them. I'm not making any money or fame off of them anyway, so no harm no foul, forever and ever, Amen. 
> 
> No copyright infringement is intended, and none of this ever happened. Dangit.

 

 

"You want me to _what_ , sir?" Clint blurted, unable to keep quiet anymore about the mission briefing Phil was attempting to give him.

Phil glanced up from the paperwork on his desk, taking in Clint's shocked expression as he said calmly, "You're going to be in a music video, Barton. Do pay attention."

"But _why_?" Clint asked, clearly confused by the whole concept. Clint had done all kinds of crazy assignments for SHIELD, even spent a memorable week in Amsterdam on a contact high while he was playing waiter in an exclusive café and waiting for a terrorist to show up to refill his marijuana stash, but he obviously felt like this took the cake.

"Because I told you to," Phil said with slightly less patience. "Which would be due to the fact you are uniquely suited to the assignment, Barton." And the fact Phil knew Clint would enjoy every minute of it, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Clint, not yet.

"I can't sing _or_ dance worth a damn, sir. You _know_ that. You were _there_ when Tasha dragged us into that damn karaoke bar in Osaka. I don't remember most of it because of all the saki shots, but she has _video_ of me making a fool of myself. She talked some idiot into filming it for her, so you can get it from her if you don't believe me."

Phil's lips twitched ever so slightly at the memory of Clint on stage performing, both with Natasha and alone. "Actually, I have my own copy. I was the 'idiot' who filmed it for posterity."

Clint scowled and looked away as he flushed slightly, running one hand roughly through his hair. "Of _course_ you did, sir."

Phil managed to keep his expression bland despite the urge to smirk. It wasn't easy to make Clint blush, but mentioning that night in Osaka seldom failed to do it. Natasha's performances that night had been superb, which hadn't surprised Phil at all considering her background, but Clint had proven himself to be an enthusiastic but otherwise terrible singer with dance moves that left no doubt he had seldom – if ever – danced alone. ‘ _Bootylicious_ ’ had been memorable for Clint and Natasha’s surprisingly accomplished booty-shaking competition while they sang, but Clint’s rendition of ‘ _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ ’ had been priceless, if only because Natasha somehow got him to actually let her pour sugar on him. Natasha had somehow convinced Clint to end their impromptu concert with _‘Barbie Girl’_ , which had been thoroughly hilarious because of the falsetto Clint had adopted to sing it and the cutesy expressions he made while he did it, sugar still glittering all over him in the hot lights of the stage. It was undeniably the most enjoyable time Phil had spent in a bar in his entire life, and that included the time in college when he had stumbled into the very active back room of a gay bar while he was looking for the restrooms.

Clint looked back at Phil after a few moments, his blush already fading and his expression beginning to edge towards stubborn. "Why me, sir? There's _dozens_ of agents that could handle a protection gig for some featherbrained celebrity. It’s not like you need a _sniper_ for that."

Phil just watched Clint pout for a moment before he decided to explain, if only because it would be amusing to watch Clint explode again. "As you know, SHIELD attempts to be prepared for all eventualities and possesses the most highly-trained agents in the world, but I have discovered that we are sorely lacking in agents with one of the necessary talents for this particular assignment. You are, in fact, the only agent that is suitable for the available role in the video who also knows how to ride a horse."

"I have to _ride_?!" Clint exclaimed. "I haven't even _touched_ a horse since I was seventeen unless you count that time in Afghanistan that I stole a horse to get back to base, and it damn near killed me when some asshole Marine creased it over the ass and made it throw me a few hours later! Last horse I was on before that wouldn’t have done anything but circle a ring if his life depended on it, and you want me to ride one in a _music video_?!"

"I am confident in your abilities," Phil said mildly. "The horses used in the video will be used to the process and the wrangler in charge of them has personally assured me a toddler could ride them. Since you are _not_ a toddler and have actual experience on horseback, I have no doubt you are quite capable of coping with the assignment."

“Riding a twenty-year-old rosinback in circles around a ring for some trick shooting and getting on some Hollywood hobbyhorse are two very different things, sir,” Clint pointed out.

“Yes, Barton, I would think so,” Phil agreed, hiding his amusement, “but I have every confidence in your ability to handle it.”

Clint stared at Phil a moment longer and then his shoulders slumped as he visibly gave in, letting out a deep sigh. "Where and when is this fiasco happening, sir?"

"You’ll be working on a set located in the southern California desert," Phil said, opening the right-hand top drawer of his desk to pull out a thick envelope marked simply ' _Barton_ '. He held it out towards Clint, adding, "You will be leaving by helicopter for JFK in an hour, and your flight west will leave approximately forty-five minutes later for the site of the video. All of the details are in the packet, as usual, including information on the suspect."

Clint reached for the envelope, taking it and tucking it securely into his vest. "Please at least tell me it's someone decent I gotta go suck up to, sir."

Phil relaxed his control enough to let the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. "I believe you'll be pleased, Barton. You've been known to claim one of the artist's songs as your theme song on more than one occasion."

Clint brightened a little bit. "Really, sir?"

"Yes." Phil paused and then added, "The mark is a disgruntled ex-roadie who happens to be a mutant with a camouflage ability similar to that of a chameleon. There have been several incidents already that the artist’s security and the local authorities were unable to prevent, and the FBI finally referred them to us because a mutant is involved. You are ordered to be certain there will not be another."

"Apprehend or eliminate, sir?" Clint asked.

"Apprehend if possible, eliminate if the situation demands it," Phil replied calmly, not at all surprised that Clint was curious about his objective even though he didn’t know who the singer was yet. Clint always wanted to know every detail possible, a habit that had annoyed his previous handlers because they had expected Clint to simply follow orders without question. Phil, on the other hand, appreciated Clint’s quick mind and tendency to want to be part of the planning, and had on more than one occasion been grateful that something he missed hadn’t gotten past Clint’s skill at seeing a situation from the prey’s vantage point. "A team will be on standby near the shoot location to take charge of the mark when you’ve completed the mission either way. There has been a specific threat to sabotage the video by killing the artist during filming, so you will be in rather close quarters with her for much of the assignment. If you have not removed the threat by the end of filming, you will continue to be Pink's bodyguard until such time as you do so."

"Holy shit!" Clint exclaimed, suddenly grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, sir!"

Phil kept his expression bland even though he wanted to smirk. "Do behave yourself, Barton. I will know if you allow the mark to escape just to extend your assignment."

Clint looked affronted, his grin vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Do you really think I would do that, sir?"

"Only if you thought you could get away with it," Phil said dryly as he looked back down at his paperwork, needling Clint on purpose just to get a rise out of him. "I believe you have packing to do. You are supposed to be a bartender that lucked into the part, so dress and act appropriately. Natasha will meet you at the airport in LA with weapons and a vehicle that will fit in well with your cover identity."

Natasha had already assured Phil that Clint would be ready for a silent war after she saw him, so Phil had no doubt he would be well-armed. She had also mentioned finding a bike for Clint when Phil told her the details of Clint’s cover story, but she hadn’t made any large purchases on her SHIELD-issued credit card on so he was fairly sure she’d be buying the bike herself. Clint already had what he called a ‘rice rocket’ that was capable of frankly terrifying speeds as far as Phil was concerned, but Clint wanted ‘a real hog’ too and had been making noises about buying a Harley for months. Clint’s birthday was in a few weeks and Natasha tended to buy Clint expensive but practical gifts she knew he would love, so Phil had little doubt she would take Clint’s need of a vehicle as an excuse to buy him a Harley.

"Yes sir," Clint agreed quietly, turning to walk to the door and then opening it before he stopped. "Just for the record, though, I would never screw the pooch on purpose. Not when _you_ gave the order."

Phil looked up in surprise just in time to see the door close quietly. He stared at the closed door for several long moments before he went back to work, making a mental note to smooth things over when Clint called to check in that night. He had every confidence in Clint, and would never have implied otherwise if he had thought Clint would take him seriously.

 

~*~*~

 

Clint limped into Phil's office just over a week later without bothering to knock, making Phil realize he had left the door open when he went to send his secretary home for the night. The lock had developed a habit of not quite engaging when the door was closed, but he hadn’t been assigned anything out of the office since the problem began so he hadn't called maintenance in to fix it yet. There were few people he could tolerate having in his fairly small office while he worked, and none of them were on the maintenance crew.

"I'm back, sir. Tasha says hi."

Phil gave Clint a visual once-over, taking in Clint's darker tan and the way the sun had bleached his hair a few shades lighter before he let his gaze scan quickly down over the rest of Clint’s body. Clint wore a tight black t-shirt with the familiar black leather biker pants he often wore when he would be riding a motorcycle, but the bulky grey brace strapped around Clint's left foot instead of the more usual battered combat boot to match the one on the right foot made Phil stare as his eyebrows rose in surprise.

Phil lifted his gaze to Clint's face again as he said, "You didn't mention an injury in any of your nightly reports, Barton."

"That's because I wasn't injured _then_ , sir," Clint said, looking just a little annoyed at the reminder. He limped to the chair in front of Phil's desk, dropping into it without bothering to wait for an invitation and then propping his injured foot up on the corner of Phil's desk with a wince that he couldn’t quite hide. "I had to finish filming so they wouldn't have to start over on the video, like I told you when I got the bastard, and it all went great until after _the last scene_ this morning. Alecia's horse was freaking out over something and acting up so much she needed help to get down, and the wrangler was busy with something else so I grabbed the horse to hold it still for her, and the goddamn thing stomped on my foot." He scowled even more, adding, “Tasha almost pissed her pants laughing when she met me at the airport to take my bike and weapons.”

Phil fought to keep his expression from changing, but from the tightening of Clint's jaw he knew Clint saw right through the attempt to hide his amusement. It had turned out that Clint didn’t have to ride for the part after all, but his experience with horses had prompted the director to declare him the back-up wrangler so they could work more quickly on the scenes involving horses. Clint had called Phil nightly to update him on his day, just as he usually did if he could when Phil had to send him on assignment alone, and Clint’s nightly ranting about the ‘bonehead cowponies’ that he had to work with had definitely been the most amusing part of Phil's day.

"At least it was _after_ your assignment ended,” Phil pointed out, managing somehow to keep his voice calm and bland even though Clint’s pouty scowl made him want to laugh. “Have you been to medical?"

"Yes, sir. Hill spotted me coming off the traffic chopper I hitched a ride on from the airport, and she practically dragged me down there by the ear," Clint agreed, still scowling. "After Mickey stopped laughing at how I got hurt she did x-rays and declared my foot broken in three places, right over the arch. She gave me some Lortabs and this thing –“ He thumped the boot. “—and said I'm supposed to stay off it."

"Which would be why you promptly walked up here," Phil said dryly. "Without crutches _or_ using the elevators, no doubt."

Phil was sure that Clint would 'lose' the pain pills, too. Clint had refused to take anything stronger than Advil for pain since a bad experience he had in the infirmary nearly a year earlier. Clint had injured his back during a mission and had been confined to the infirmary for a week in an attempt to force him to stay in bed, and Phil and Natasha had been shocked early the second day when Clint responded to Natasha bringing him his favorite coffee drink (hazelnut mocha with a double-shot of espresso) by bursting into tears. Clint had begged brokenly for Natasha and Phil to leave, mortified that he was crying over _coffee_ , and then spent most of an hour crying and begging Phil to put him out of his misery while Natasha harried the entire medical staff to find out what had happened to her partner. The newest doctor on the staff – Doctor Mikayla Johnson, a hot-shot young trauma surgeon better known now to most of SHIELD as ‘Doc Mickey’ – had been the one to link Clint’s sudden near-suicidal depression to a known allergic reaction to the pain pills Clint had been given, and Clint had refused to take any prescription pain medications offered to him ever since.

"I like the company better on the stairs," Clint muttered, his scowl fading into a very definite pout. “And Mickey didn’t _give me_ crutches.”

Phil's lips twitched as he fought to control his amusement. He was sure that Mikayla hadn’t bothered giving Clint crutches for the simple reason she knew Clint wouldn’t use them for their intended purpose. Mikayla might be the only doctor Clint liked, but he didn’t actually _obey_ even her, or at least not very often. Clint had a tendency to follow a doctor’s orders only as long as he was with them and then promptly forget everything they said the moment he escaped, often ‘losing’ whatever brace or bandaging the doctors had put on his latest injury within the hour, if he didn’t turn it into a weapon of some sort just because he could. "Almost everyone but you uses the elevators, Barton."

"Exactly," Clint agreed.

Phil just watched Clint pout for a moment before he looked back down to finish sorting the paperwork he needed to put on his secretary’s desk for her to deliver in the morning. "I know you're not here to debrief because we did that by phone, and I already filed the final paperwork on your assignment. I also highly doubt you wanted to request medical leave, so what _did_ you need?"

"Maybe I just missed you," Clint muttered, making Phil look up in surprise. Clint was picking at a small scuffed place on the knee of his leather pants, watching his fingers like they suddenly fascinated him. He seemed to feel Phil's gaze because after a moment he added softly, "A lot. Talking on the phone helped, but it’s just not the same as being with you, sir."

Phil knew how hard it was for Clint to admit that he needed anyone, and he didn't have the heart to pretend he didn’t understand what Clint was trying to tell him. They had been skirting around what was building between them for well over a year, pretending their relationship was just a working one, but Phil couldn’t think of a single reason pretend any longer. There were no regulations against a relationship between a handler and his asset – Fury had actually _suggested_ the idea in Clint’s case, wanting Phil to exert any possible influence to get Clint to follow orders – so it wouldn’t affect their work unless they allowed it to.

Phil had been waiting patiently, trying hard to give Clint whatever time he needed to adjust even though he had been sure of his own feelings for Clint almost since they met. He was confident that Clint could do his job no matter what, and he had grown to hate going home alone at night knowing Clint was just as lonely as he was, and he didn’t want that to happen again. Not that night, at least.

"I've missed you too, Clint,” Phil said softly. “It's been very ... quiet this week, with you gone."

Clint glanced up quickly at Phil through his eyelashes and then looked down again, letting Phil see only a glimpse of his blue-grey eyes. "Because I'm the best agent you've got?"

"You're not the best, that would be Natasha," Phil said with a slight smile. "And you would be the first to say so, if she weren’t on assignment on the opposite side of the continent at the moment."

Clint tipped his head to the side as if conceding the point. "Maybe."

"Definitely," Phil said, looking back down to put the last two forms into the appropriate folders before he folded his hands on his desk, devoting his complete attention to Clint. "It's been quiet," he said after a few moments, "because you and Natasha were both on assignment thousands of miles away and no one else bothers to visit my office unless they want something from me." He paused slightly. “And even Tasha does not visit me as often as you do.”

"I want something, too," Clint admitted softly, finally lifting his head to look at Phil again.

"Do share," Phil murmured, allowing himself to meet Clint’s gaze even though he sometimes tried hard to avoid doing just that. Clint was a very perceptive man, he knew, and Phil could seldom hide how he truly felt about something if he looked into Clint’s eyes.

Clint just looked into Phil’s eyes for a few moments before he slowly smiled. "You."

Phil smiled too, Clint's simple declaration making him happier than he had been in a very long time. "Why don’t we start with dinner and see where the evening takes us?"

"I can run with that, sir," Clint agreed without hesitation, his smile widening. "No sushi though. I haven't had anything since breakfast, and I draw the line at over-priced bait on an empty stomach." He paused slightly and added, “And nowhere fancy. I don’t want to have to wear my monkey suit just to get some food.”

Phil laughed, feeling light enough to fly unassisted as he stood up to gather the folders on his desk. "I was thinking more along the lines of going to my place and calling for takeout."

"Takeout's awesome," Clint said quickly, still smiling. "What delivers there?"

Phil started towards the door, smiling and pleased to hear Clint rising to follow him. "This time of night, Chinese, Thai, or pizza."

Phil dropped the folders on the government issued steel monstrosity of a desk that his secretary used, pleased the see that the laptop and paperwork that had been scattered over the surface that day had all been neatly stowed away sometime after he told the most recent young lady to lock up and head home. He thought her name was Maureen but he had stopped making much of an effort to be sure because she would undoubtedly disappear as soon as she figured out her duties, just like the last dozen people he’d found sitting at that desk waiting for him to tell them what to do. Fury seemed to view Phil’s long hours and exacting standards as the perfect punishment detail for mid-level agents, so Phil had been gifted with a new ‘secretary’ – and actual secretarial skills were definitely not part of how Fury chose them, leaving Phil doing his own work _and_ much of theirs – on average of twice a week since Phil’s _real_ secretary, Connie, had left on maternity leave a month ago.

Phil put his often-useless temporary secretaries out of his mind and continued out of the office as he glanced at Clint, who seemed to have been waiting for Phil to look at him.

Clint was grinning as he said immediately, "Any of those is good with me, sir. I'm easy."

Phil smirked as he stopped just outside the door, waiting for Clint to follow him out before he closed the door, locking it securely. He looked at Clint then as he murmured, "You are, hmm?"

"For you, sir? Always," Clint said quietly, his grin fading into a sudden sweet smile Phil had seldom seen before.

"I'll have to remember that," Phil murmured, smiling at Clint. He allowed himself to enjoy the warm happy look in Clint’s eyes for a few moments before he turned away to head for the elevator just down the hall, keeping his pace slow because of Clint’s injury.

Clint followed at Phil's shoulder on the right and half a step behind just as he usually did when they walked together, keeping up easily despite his limp. "I'll make sure you don't forget, sir."

"I'll look forward to it," Phil said quietly, glancing at Clint and enjoying the sight of how calm and pleased he was.

Clint smiled wider when he caught Phil looking at him and Phil allowed himself to relax a little more as he turned his attention ahead of them again. They reached the elevator a few moments later and Phil pushed the down arrow before he folded his hands in front of him, waiting for the elevator to arrive with patience he didn’t truly feel. He was usually in no hurry to return to his lonely little apartment at the end of the day, but the knowledge Clint was finally going home with him made the prospect of going home attractive for the first time in months.

Waiting for the elevator to arrive seemed to Phil like it lasted for an eternity even though it was surely no more than three minutes before the doors silently opened, allowing them both to step inside for the ride down to the underground garage where Phil's car was parked.

 

~*~*~

 

Phil pretended not to notice the way Clint was looking around as he followed Phil into his three-room apartment, but he knew Clint wouldn’t miss much.

The apartment’s contents didn’t say a whole lot about Phil at first glance, but he knew that what wasn’t there would tell Clint almost as much as the few things Phil had chosen to keep. The main room did double-duty as a kitchen and living room and made it pretty plain that Phil not only lived alone, but also seldom spent much time there. The kitchen area wasn’t as small as it could have been, but the only large appliance was a rather ancient-looking fridge. There was no stove in the area obviously intended for one because Phil had never bothered to buy one, instead using a portable burner and small toaster oven that reheated leftovers or toasted a bagel perfectly. The only thing in the kitchen that Phil had bought new was the stainless-steel coffee maker, which was flanked on one side by a coffee grinder and on the other by a spice rack filled with neatly labeled tins of loose tea.

A small but comfortable couch divided the kitchen from the living area, which was rather large for an apartment but held only a small coffee table that was obviously Phil’s makeshift desk and an entertainment center that held little more than a large television, a stereo, and a Tivo. There were no photos on the walls or shelves of books like you might find in most living rooms, nothing at all really other than the laptop on the coffee table, a battered leather media wallet tucked in next to the stereo, and an old quilt draped over one end of the couch.

The quilt was the only truly personal item in the entire apartment that Phil didn’t keep safely stowed away in a bug-out bag. It was scorched and stained in a few places and had numerous small rips that had been carefully repaired, but it had been given to Phil by his favorite aunt only a few months before she died unexpectedly of a heart attack and he treasured it despite the battle scars. He always kept it on his bed or couch, no matter where he lived, and enjoyed spending a cold winter afternoon curled up under the quilt while napping or reading a good book.

Phil moved directly into the kitchen area and opened the top drawer at the end of the counter closest to the couch, reaching into it for the menus for the local take-out places as he asked, “Have you decided what you’d prefer for dinner yet?”

“What were you going to get before I showed up in your office, sir?” Clint countered, making Phil turn to look at him. Clint was standing by the other end of the couch with one hand on the quilt, absently stroking the worn cotton as he added, “You were planning to order takeout anyway, right?”

“Yes,” Phil agreed, smiling slightly. “I had planned to order Chinese. There’s a local place on the next block over that makes the best spicy beef that I’ve had in years.” He smiled a bit wider. “The menu says they stop deliveries at eleven, but Sun Li told me the second time I ordered from them that they’d be glad to deliver to me as long as I order before midnight.”

“Sounds great to me, sir,” Clint said, turning away from the couch to start limping past Phil towards the fridge. “You got any beer?”

“Yes, if you can tolerate the black lager Natasha got me hooked on,” Phil replied with a chuckle. “Pass me one while you’re in there, please.” He separated out the Chinese menu and leaned back against the counter to watch Clint as he added, “The bottle opener is in the drawer next to the fridge.”

“Okay,” Clint said, stopping by the fridge and grabbing the handle as he looked over at Phil, grinning. “And schwarzbier is alright, it just doesn’t taste like real beer.” He looked back at the fridge as he gave the door handle a tug, and he was comically surprised when the whole fridge moved slightly. “Uh… Is it _locked_ or something?”

“No,” Phil said, amused. “It has an annoying habit of doing that, though. You’ll have to hold the side of the refrigerator still and pull hard on the door at the same time.”

Clint did as he had been told, wrenching the door to the fridge open a few inches, and then he surprised Phil by reaching into his back pocket to take out a butterfly knife that he flicked open and stabbed all the way through the gasket around the edge of the refrigerator door in one smooth move.

“There. That won’t let enough cold air escape to really hurt anything, but it should stop the vacuum-sealed fridge thing.” Clint flicked the knife shut again and tucked it back into his pocket as he grinned at Phil, then finally looked into the fridge to reach for two bottles of the Sam Adams Black Lager that Phil had been drinking since Natasha brought a six pack to his office to go with their dinner one night. He closed the fridge again and then turned towards Phil, grinning even wider as he teased, “You don’t eat at home much, do you, sir?”

Phil’s lips twitched at the way Clint was _still_ calling him sir, well aware that his fridge held nothing other than a little bit of cream cheese, an ounce or two of lox, one more bottle of Sam Adams beer, a pitcher of filtered water, and half a stick of butter. He usually had more cream cheese and lox in there along with meat and cheese to make sandwiches with, not to mention leftovers from the takeout he practically lived on, but he hadn’t had time to go by his favorite deli in over a week and he was almost out of everything. His breakfast that morning had been a slice of slightly stale rye toast with cream cheese and lox, and dinner the night before had been a sub-par turkey club sandwich he grabbed at an all-night deli because even the Chinese place was closed by the time he headed home.

“I seldom have time to cook, Agent Barton,” Phil said dryly, “and often don’t have time to wait for deliveries, either.”

“C’mon, can’t you call me Clint?” Clint said, making a face.

Phil smirked, amused that Clint had reacted so strongly to being called Agent Barton. “I could, yes.”

“Well then why don’t you, sir?” Clint asked, obviously confused.

“Because you haven’t started calling me Phil yet.”

Clint just stared at Phil for a moment and then blushed as he turned without another word to reach for the drawer where Phil kept the church key he used to open bottles. The church key wasn’t at all remarkable, just a piece of steel with a triangle-shaped can lid-punch on one end and a bottle opener on the other, but Clint still inspected it like it was some complicated new gadget. Phil had picked up the battered old church key in a liquor store right after basic training, and he was amused by how fascinated Clint seemed to be by something so simple.

Clint finally opened the beers with practiced ease before he dropped the church key back into the drawer and turned to offer Phil a beer. “Shlitz beer? Seriously?”

Phil chuckled and accepted the bottle of Sam Adams. “It was free with a case, and small enough to carry in my pocket.”

Clint laughed slightly. “You were drinking a lot of crappy beer then, si--?” He caught himself and broke off to take a slow drink of his beer, looking down, and Phil found himself smiling a little wider.

“I had just finished basic and I was about to ship out to Ranger school, so I drank whatever beer was cheapest,” Phil countered, smirking. “And I knew I’d be carrying my gear on my back in some Kuwaiti desert after that, so small and portable was a good thing.”

“You served with the Rangers during Operation Desert Storm?” Clint asked as he looked back up at Phil, surprised but smiling.

“Yes, I did,” Phil said as he pushed away from the counter, walking around the couch with the Chinese menu and his beer. He seldom shared anything about his past, preferring to leave most of it behind him, but he thought telling Clint about some of it might not be so bad. He always enjoyed seeing Clint smile. “I spent entirely too long in one god-forsaken desert or another to want to reminisce about it very much though, if you don’t mind.”

“Amen on that,” Clint agreed, moving to follow Phil. “I feel the same way about my tour in Afghanistan. I was there and I did my job, and that’s all anyone needs to know.” He paused and then added, “Well, except for you, but you probably know my file better than I do.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, but I will be glad to agree to leave your military record and mine both in the past,” Phil said easily, smiling as he sat on the couch and waited for Clint to join him.

“Deal.” Clint limped to the couch and then flopped down gracelessly as he changed the subject. “So get with the ordering, si—“ He broke off, looking at Phil for a moment, and then corrected himself, “Phil.”

Phil smiled and leaned to put his beer on the coffee table. “Alright, Clint. What would you like?”

“Whatever is good,” Clint said with a sudden soft smile. “I’m hungry, but I’m not picky as long as there’s plenty of it. I haven’t eaten since dawn Cali-time.”

Phil smiled a little wider and reached into his suit coat for his phone. “I’ll make sure there’s enough.”

Phil was about to dial when Clint shifted next to him, stretching out his broken foot. Phil glanced at him, and Clint’s sudden lack of expression made Phil’s smile disappear as he watched Clint carefully lift his foot to prop it on the corner of the coffee table. Phil had long ago learned Clint’s tells when he was fighting to hide the fact he was in serious pain, and seeing them made him remember that Clint wasn’t going to take the Lortabs the doctor had given him.

Decision made, Phil put his phone and the menu on the narrow bit of couch between them and then stood up, making Clint look up at him in surprise. Phil took off his suit coat and tie and then smiled at Clint as he folded the coat over his arm, murmuring, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Clint agreed, looking a little confused but not arguing.

Phil walked quickly into his bedroom, dropping the suit coat and tie on his dresser and then taking a moment to remove his shoes and socks before he went into the bathroom. He was walking back to the couch a few moments later with a bottle of Advil in hand, and he smiled when he saw Clint was reading the menu. “Normally I would advise not to mix pain medications with alcohol, but I know you well enough to be sure you can handle quite a bit more than a couple of beers with a few Advil.”

Clint laughed, looking a little sheepish as he set the menu aside and watched Phil sit down sideways on the couch, his right leg bent between them so that his knee was against Clint’s thigh. “Will you pretend not to notice if I take four, sir?”

“When we’re off-duty my name is Phil, remember?” Phil said, smiling a bit crookedly.

Clint blushed, looking down and beginning to fidget with the edge of the couch cushion as he admitted, “I’m kind of used to the whole sir thing now. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“You have no trouble forgetting to call anyone else ‘sir’,” Phil pointed out, amused. “Just the opposite, in fact. You don’t even bother to call _Fury_ ‘sir’ unless he forces it.”

“That’s … not the same,” Clint said quietly, risking a glance at Phil through his eyelashes like he had done earlier that night when he admitted that he missed Phil, as if he wanted to hide but needed to see Phil’s reaction, too. “I don’t really _mean it_ with anyone else.”

Phil just gazed at Clint for few moments, thinking about their first few weeks of working together, right after Fury practically threw Clint at Phil and told Phil to either fix him or shoot him and lose the body. The need for Clint to show Phil some kind of respect had seemed vitally important back then and Phil vividly remembered telling Clint that he expected to be called ‘sir’ because he had earned it. Phil had worked hard for every bit of respect he got from his fellow agents, worked hard to be the best of the best at everything he had ever done, really, so he had felt he had earned a little show of respect from Clint, too.

Clint had begun to call Phil ‘sir’ a little more often after that conversation, but it had taken Clint months to start doing it automatically and he still refused to call anyone else ‘sir’ unless he was ordered to, having made an art form out of turning the word into an insult. Even Fury seldom got a ‘sir’ out of Clint, instead being addressed as ‘boss’ or by title with just enough respect that Fury seldom did anything about it despite the way it obviously annoyed him. It had long ago reached the point that their fellow agents always assumed it was Phil that Clint was talking to whenever he addressed someone as ‘sir’, and it was really a very safe bet. Phil had reminded Clint of his name and pointed out that he felt they were equals more than once over the last year as they grew closer, but still Clint hardly ever addressed Phil as anything but ‘sir’ unless they were alone, and even then he didn’t do it often.

Phil smiled at that thought and asked gently, “Would you prefer I call you Barton like I used to?”

“No,” Clint said quickly, looking down again. “I like you calling me Clint. I just—” He trailed off for a moment, obviously searching for the words he wanted, and then he took a deep breath and lifted his head, looking into Phil’s eyes. “I like calling you sir, too.”

Phil searched Clint’s eyes for a moment and then smiled, reaching out to cover Clint’s left hand where it was still absently toying with the couch cushion. “If you want to call me sir I don’t mind, Clint, but I want to be sure you understand that I don’t _expect_ you to when we’re off duty.” He smiled a little wider. “Or any time, really, working or not. Not anymore. You’ve earned that and more.”

“Well, duh,” Clint said with a hint of a smile, turning his hand over to tangle his fingers with Phil’s and hold on. “I know I don’t _have_ to call you sir, and I’m not asking you to be my dom, not as a sex thing where I want collared or any of that crap. I just kind of like calling you sir and knowing I can relax when I’m with you. I don’t ever have to worry about what’s going on because I know you’re always on top of the situation.” He smirked suddenly, a wicked sparkle in his eyes as he added, “Probably in more ways than one, knowing you like I do.”

“I think I can live with that,” Phil said, amused that Clint had said he wasn’t asking Phil to be his dominant while actually pretty much doing exactly that. The sex games weren’t what that kind of relationship was really all about, not from what Phil understood about the lifestyle anyway, but he was glad to know Clint seemed to understand Phil couldn’t give up control of his life even for someone he loved. “I _would_ like to hear you say my name a little more often, but I’ve gotten used to you calling me sir, too.”

Clint looked more serious as his thumb rubbed over Phil’s knuckles slowly. “I’ll try to remember.” He smiled softly, adding, “Phil.”

“Thank you,” Phil murmured, giving Clint’s hand a squeeze and then releasing it so he could use both hands to open the bottle of Advil while he changed the subject. “Normally I take two of these, so why don’t you try three?”

“Sure,” Clint agreed, seemingly not bothered by the change of subject. “I didn’t really think you’d let me have four anyway.”

As soon as Phil had poured three pills into his hand he looked back at Clint, and he was glad to see Clint’s smile went all the way to his eyes, making them shine. Phil offered Clint the pills, smiling too as he watched Clint take them from his hand and then closing the Advil bottle to tuck it away in his pants pocket.

Clint tossed the three Advil into his mouth dry, chasing them with a long swallow of beer before he looked at Phil again. “Thanks. Those oughta help a little.”

“They should,” Phil agreed quietly. “Did you see anything on the menu that you particularly want to try?”

“The beef and mushrooms in oyster sauce sounds pretty good,” Clint replied. “That and an order of rice and I’ll be fine.”

“The entrees come with a side of rice,” Phil said, amused. “Wouldn’t you like some vegetables too?” He already knew the answer – he had eaten meals with Clint before, after all – but he still felt like he should ask.

“Rice and mushrooms _are_ veggies,” Clint replied with an impish grin. “An order of the cheese wonton things would be good for dessert, though.”

Phil reached for his phone as he said dryly, “I already planned to get two orders of those. I remember how you stole mine _and_ Natasha’s the last time she brought us Chinese for lunch.”

“That’s because Natasha got nothing else but that volcanic chicken and some cabbage mixed with mushy stuff that tasted like sweaty feet,” Clint countered with a laugh. “The wontons were all that actually tasted like _food_.”

“It was zucchini,” Phil said, trying not to laugh as well. The zucchini stir fry _had_ tasted a little bit like old gym socks smelled, it was true, and the General Tso’s chicken had been the hottest version of it Phil had ever tried. He liked spicy food, but he had regretted eating that particular meal for nearly two days afterwards. “And I promise the local place doesn’t have anything like that on the menu. Even the dishes labeled spicy aren’t half so hot as what Natasha got in Chinatown, and as far as I know they don’t even serve zucchini.” He dialed the restaurant, glancing at Clint as he put the phone to his ear and giving him a quelling look as he said quickly, “Now shut up a minute so I can order.”

Clint grinned cheekily, settling back a little more against the couch. “Yes sir.”

Phil chuckled slightly and just watched Clint take a slow drink of his beer, letting his gaze linger on Clint’s sparkling eyes until Sun Li answered the phone. He made himself look away then so Clint wouldn’t distract him as he ordered their dinner, adding an order of broccoli-beef stir fry to what Clint wanted and his own meal of spicy beef and rice in hopes of getting Clint to eat a few vegetables. Clint had mentioned that he hadn’t eaten all day, so he was sure to eat more than usual if it was already there and smelling good.

 

~*~*~

 

It was just after two in the morning when Phil blinked awake during _‘McLintock!’_ and realized he had dozed off.

Clint had checked what was on television while they waited for the food, channel surfing until he discovered that AMC was doing a John Wayne marathon with _‘Hatari!’_ nearly over and _‘McLintock!’_ on the schedule next. Phil enjoyed both movies so he hadn’t been hard to convince to watch them both. They were just about the only John Wayne movies he never ceased to find amusing and he had hoped they would be able to help him stay awake to enjoy Clint’s company a little longer.

Obviously, Phil had hoped in vain. The last he remembered there had been baby elephants storming through an African town chasing Dallas, and then suddenly he woke to see a horde of kids scrambling up a rose trellis to get GW’s hat off the weather vane. It was a good three hours past when he preferred to go to bed, even though he seldom actually managed to be asleep by eleven, and Phil was too tired to try to pretend he could keep up with Clint’s night-owl ways any longer.

Phil shifted slightly in preparation to get up, intending to tell Clint it was time for bed, but he froze when moving made him realize Clint was curled up against his side. He looked down at Clint and then slowly relaxed, smiling at how peaceful he looked. He was a little surprised to see that Clint was asleep, breathing slow and easy with his cheek against Phil’s shoulder and the fingers of one hand tucked into Phil’s belt as if Clint wanted to be sure he couldn’t move away.

Phil just watched Clint sleep for a few minutes, ignoring the movie, and he barely noticed when he moved the arm he had around Clint’s shoulders just enough to stroke Clint’s hair very gently. He seldom saw Clint look so peaceful even when he was asleep – _especially_ when he was asleep, really – and Phil treasured knowing that just being with him was enough to let Clint feel as if he could relax his wary vigilance. Clint had lived a hard life with very little true safety in it, even at times when he should have been far out of harm's way, and Phil hoped he would never do anything to change how safe Clint evidently felt with him.

Phil had been watching Clint sleep for while when Clint suddenly mumbled, “Kinda creepy, you watchin’ me.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Phil said, feeling a little embarrassed about getting caught.

“I was,” Clint admitted with a crooked little smile. He moved his head just enough to look up at Phil, his eyes sleepy and warm. “At least until you moved. Since then I’ve been enjoying this while I could.”

Phil took a moment to enjoy the look in Clint’s eyes, feeling a warm rush of affection and something more intense that he had known was love for longer than he wanted to admit to, even in the privacy of his own thoughts. “I wasn’t planning to call you a taxi, Clint,” he murmured gently after a few moments. “Tonight won’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed.”

Clint brightened a little, looking hopeful as he asked, “To sleep, or…?”

“Just to sleep tonight,” Phil said, smiling as he ran his fingers through Clint’s hair again. Clint’s eyes fell closed as he leaned into Phil’s touch, and Phil smiled a little wider while he repeated the gesture. “Though I must admit, your chances are good if you’re here tomorrow night. We don’t have to work the next day, so I won’t have to be up and rational at dawn like I do tomorrow.” He stroked Clint’s hair again and then admitted softly, “I want to be able to take the time to enjoy being with you.”

“I don’t have to work for _weeks_ ,” Clint murmured with a pleased little smile, shifting a little closer and then relaxing against Phil’s shoulder again. “Mickey told Hill she wanted me to stay off my feet until she says otherwise, so Hill probably revoked my access pass to everywhere but my quarters as soon as she left the infirmary.” He smiled a bit wider. “Well, my quarters and your office.”

Phil chuckled quietly, amused. “Maria is very … _efficient_ that way.”

Hill had actually confined Clint to quarters more than once since Clint had been assigned to Phil, and each time Clint had quickly shown up in Phil’s office to complain about it, escaping his supposedly secure quarters with an ease that had made Phil proud and thoroughly infuriated Hill. It offended her on a personal level that Clint refused to stay put when she told him to, but Fury usually left disciplining Clint to Phil, who had made it a policy to let Clint get away with anything that didn’t actually cause any physical damage as long as he hadn’t gone against _Phil’s_ orders.

“She hates me,” Clint said. “She’s probably thrilled about having an excuse to try to keep me out of the loop for a while.”

Phil murmured, “Well, I have a couch you’re welcome to and my bed is quite big enough for two. The broadband isn’t as fast as you’re used to, but the cable is better, Peapod will deliver food and beer, and there’s at least two dozen takeout places that deliver here until ten every night.”

“You forgot the best part,” Clint pointed out softly, not looking at Phil.

“Which would be?” Phil asked, amused.

“Sooner or later you’ll come home and then I just might finally get to find out what it’s like to kiss you,” Clint said, tipping his head up to smile at Phil.

Phil smirked as he teased quietly, “Or you could just kiss me now so you’ll _know_ what you’re waiting for tomorrow.”

“I’m liking your idea better,” Clint murmured, lifting his head to kiss Phil without another word.

 

~*~*~

 

Phil groaned when his alarm began to bleat loudly at six the next morning, moving to hide his face against his pillow only to realize it wasn’t a pillow at all, but a very muscular shoulder. He stilled, trying to ignore his pounding headache and figure out who it could possibly be for only an instant before he recognized Clint’s scent.

Phil relaxed then and a few moments later his memories of the night before returned, making him smile despite the pain in his head. He and Clint had lingered on the couch kissing for a long while before they finally moved to the bedroom, stripping down to boxers – Clint had to borrow a pair after he admitted that he seldom bothered to wear underwear under his leathers – and then getting into bed together. Phil had intended to go to sleep immediately, but Clint had other ideas and they had ended up kissing and touching right up until Phil finally made Clint roll over so he might get some sleep before dawn. It had been nearly three in the morning the last time Phil remembered looking at the clock, but he had fallen asleep soon after that with Clint in his arms, Clint’s back snugly against his chest.

Phil hesitantly cracked open his eyes and then closed them again when it made his head throb even more despite how dark his bedroom still was. He had only had one beer the previous night, but waking up after too little sleep was often worse for him than an actual hangover, giving him a pounding headache that wouldn’t lessen until he had food, plenty of coffee, and a couple of Advil, though not necessarily in that order. He had known the night before that he had to be up early, but after Clint kissed him the first time Phil hadn’t wanted to stop even though he knew he would have to pay the price for letting himself indulge.

Clint made a grumpy noise suddenly, reaching out to slap at the alarm clock with surprisingly good aim and silencing it. He flopped his arm back on the bed and was still for a few moments before he mumbled, “Call in sick. I know you got days saved up.”

Phil smiled against Clint’s shoulder despite the pain in his head, tightening his arms around Clint slightly as he murmured, “I have to go in, I have a mission debriefing today for Sitwell's team, two department meetings I can’t reschedule again, and then the paperwork about all three that will have to be done before I can leave.” Clint made a low displeased noise and Phil added impulsively, “I should be able to finish up fairly early today, though, if there are no emergencies.” Early for him would be six if he was lucky instead of sometime after ten, but it was still an improvement.

Clint took a slow deep breath and then asked quietly, “Anything I can help with? My handwriting isn’t as perfect as yours, but people can read it, at least.”

Phil lifted his head and pulled away from Clint, opening his eyes to stare at the back of Clint’s head in surprise despite the throbbing of his headache. “Who are you and what have you done with Clinton Barton?”

Clint let out a soft huff of a laugh, rolling over onto his back to look at Phil with a sheepish smile. “I’m still me, but if it’ll get you home sooner, I’d be willing to spend a day doing your secretary’s job for her. With the idiots Fury’s been sending you, she probably can’t even figure out how to turn on her computer.”

Phil stared at Clint for a moment longer and then smiled slowly. The only thing Clint hated more than sitting still was sitting still to do paperwork, so an offer to spend a _day_ working at a desk truly meant something. “I think the most recent secretary actually _can_ handle her job, but thank you for offering.” He moved one hand to Clint’s cheek, cupping it gently and feeling a little thrill at the way Clint leaned into his touch as he added quietly, “I’d rather know you’re here staying off that foot so it will heal.”

“It’s not that bad,” Clint protested, “and I have to go in anyway.”

“I have sweats you can wear for today,” Phil offered, smiling as he slowly ran his fingertips through Clint’s short hair. “And I can get your own clothes for you after I’m done for the day. I don’t mind.”

“I’d rather do it so you can get back here faster,” Clint said quietly, smiling back. “I’ll ride along when you go in and then you can worry about running SHIELD and I’ll go see Mickey like she wanted me to this morning. When she’s done with me I’ll get my duffle and then catch a cab and be here waiting when you get home tonight.”

“Why does Mikayla need to see you again so soon?” Phil asked, surprised.

“She wants to do x-rays again to see if the walking cast is really going to keep the breaks in my foot from shifting,” Clint explained with a wry smile. “If it doesn’t, she’s giving me a hunk of rock to haul around for the next six weeks instead. It could fuck up the dexterity in my foot if the bones don’t heal straight, and I free-climb enough to need all the flexibility I can get.”

“She would do better to give you _crutches_ so you can actually stay off of that foot,” Phil pointed out, and then the alarm suddenly began blaring again. He sighed and pulled away from Clint, throwing the top sheet back as he added, “And I intend to tell her as much when I see her.” He forced himself to sit up, intending to stand, but he only made it as far as swinging one foot off of the bed before he had to stop to just breathe a moment and wait for his headache to subside enough that he stopped seeing floating spots before his eyes.

Clint rolled away and sat up on the other side of the bed, making a low pained noise when he lowered his broken foot to the floor, and Phil turned his head to watch, trying to regulate his breathing to slow his heart rate and ease the pounding in his head.

Clint had taken the brace off his broken foot to sleep, leaving his foot in just the heavy-duty elastic bandage Mikayla had wrapped it with the night before, but Phil was sure that even the pressure of the bandage had to be painful. Clint was obviously trying to ignore the pain though, reaching for the clock to actually turn the alarm off and then turning his head to look at Phil. He frowned when he saw Phil’s face. “You alright, babe?”

“Just a headache,” Phil murmured, a little surprised that Clint called him something like ‘babe’ even though he seldom managed to say Phil’s name. “It’ll pass.”

“You didn’t get enough sleep,” Clint said with a look of dawning understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Phil said. “I enjoyed every minute of last night, and I knew how late it was getting.”

Clint sighed, looking unhappy even though he didn’t argue, and Phil was sure he was thinking about the fact Phil made a habit of going to bed about the time Clint was having his second meal of the day. Clint often greeted Phil with a fresh pot of coffee when Phil arrived in his office in the morning, and then Clint would disappear off to his quarters to sleep three or four hours while Phil began his day. It was a routine they had carried with them even on assignments when it was possible, allowing them to keep some sense of normalcy even in the most insane conditions.

Clint turned away after a moment, reaching for the walking cast he had left in the floor by the bed as he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll be fine after breakfast and some Advil.” Phil schooled his expression to hide the stab of pain in his head as he stood up, holding still only a moment to recover his equilibrium before he started towards the bathroom. “This isn’t the first time I was up most of the night and then had to work the next day, and I’m very sure it won’t be the last. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You can handle anything, sir,” Clint said quietly, making Phil look at him. Clint was holding the boot but hadn’t begun to put it on yet, instead watching Phil move, and when Phil stopped walking Clint asked, “Do you want me to make coffee while I wait for my turn in the shower?”

“Coffee sounds wonderful,” Phil agreed, “but it would be quicker for us to _share_ a shower and get the coffee when we stop for breakfast.”

Clint looked surprised and then pleased. “It would, yeah. I just didn’t think you’d be ready for any naked funtimes yet.”

Phil laughed slightly, amused by both the term ‘naked funtimes’ and the fact that Clint was trying to wait for him even though Phil was very sure that he had much more experience with men than Clint did. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” He turned away to continue into the bathroom, adding, “If you’re showering with me, get a move on. And leave the boot, you don’t need to get it wet.”

Clint quickly dropped the boot back in the floor. “Yes sir.”

Phil glanced back as he went through the bathroom door, smirking slightly when he saw Clint was limping carefully towards the bathroom with a wide grin on his face. Phil turned away and continued into the bathroom, smiling and scratching idly at his belly as he walked. It was going to be a great day, headache or no.

 

~*~*~

 

“Clint! Just who I wanted to see!” Mikayla called cheerfully as Clint and Phil walked through the doors of the trauma bay just after eight that morning. She pointed towards one of the exam tables as she began moving towards the rolling carts full of equipment along one wall, not giving either of them a chance to say anything as she added, “Get your butt on a table and get comfortable, Birdbrain. You may be here a while if I have to work on that foot, and I can’t get out of here until you do.”

Phil smiled, amused by the nickname Mikayla had given Clint after a particularly ill-advised attempt to fly during a mission that had almost gotten Clint killed and left him with a wrenched shoulder that took weeks to heal because Clint wouldn’t stop his usual routine of target practice and sparring with whoever was in the gym when Clint wandered in.

Clint started limping towards the indicated table as he grumbled cheerfully, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear you, woman. I’m going.”

“You’d better, or I’ll sic your keeper on you,” Mikayla said, laughing as she started x-ray machine’s cart towards Clint. “And he’s right here for a change, so I won’t even have track him down so he can put the fear of God into you.” She grinned at Phil as she walked. “Thanks for making him come in like I told him to, Agent Coulson. Without your help, I probably would have had to send out a search party.”

Phil’s lips twitched as he hid a smile. Mikayla had his personal number and he had told her often that she was welcome to call him directly, but she never had unless it was an emergency. “You’re quite welcome, Doctor Johnson, but I didn’t make him do anything. I just accompanied him because I wanted to have a word with you, if you don’t mind.”

Phil was one of two people he knew of that Mikayla seldom addressed by their first names, and he always retaliated by calling her Doctor Johnson even though she hated it. He liked Mikayla quite well despite that though, enough that she was on file as his preferred physician and he had appended notes to Clint and Natasha’s files that she was to be called in whenever they needed treatment for anything more complex than a minor cut. Natasha had been first to ask him to do so because she trusted no one else to do any kind of medical procedure on her, but she still didn’t like allowing a doctor to treat her and often insisted that Clint or Phil play medic for her when she knew they were capable of treating her injuries.

Clint was a little more trusting of the infirmary staff and would go without too much protest if he was hurt, and he would tolerate being treated by whoever was on duty if Hill or Fury was right there to make him, but that seldom happened anymore. Phil or Natasha always called Mikayla as soon as they knew Clint had been injured, and Clint was seldom hurt without either Phil or Natasha knowing about it almost immediately. Phil thought Mikayla had probably known about Clint’s injury before Clint even left California, if only because Natasha was sure to have called her to make sure that Mikayla examined his foot. Phil privately suspected that was why Hill had been waiting to pounce on Clint as soon as he arrived at headquarters.

“Of course,” Mikayla said, looking surprised as she started one of the carts moving. “I always have time for you, sir. What did you need?”

“Clint said that you might be giving him a cast this morning?” Phil half-asked, smiling as he moved closer to the table Clint was now sitting on, making sure to stay out of Mikayla’s way while she maneuvered the heavy portable x-ray machine into place near Clint’s foot.

“If the breaks have shifted again since the x-rays I took last night, yes,” Mikayla agreed, locking the wheels on the x-ray machine and then moving a little closer to Clint before she stopped and folded her arms, looking past him at Phil. “Putting a plate or even rods into his foot could cause bone spurs that would ruin Clint’s ability to climb like the crazy monkey he is, so a cast is the best option. Is that a problem?”

“Considering the last time he had to wear a cast, yes,” Phil said wryly, remembering how Clint had driven him crazy for six weeks. “It was before you joined us here, but I remember it well and I would greatly prefer to avoid a repeat of the experience. Have you considered a lighter wrap to immobilize the foot with crutches so he can stay off of it completely?”

Clint’s last cast had been on his right forearm and wrist, which had been broken in a very nasty fall. The cast had been completely replaced twice because Clint had taken a serrated knife to it to cut a hole over a particularly itchy spot he couldn’t get to with the pencils he stole from Phil’s desk, and then a third time because Clint had slid a dagger into it to scratch with and managed to cut himself badly enough to need stitches. That had been when Phil suggested a removable splint for the arm, but he had soon discovered Clint only wore it when he knew Phil was around, making Phil have to drag Clint down to the infirmary for a _fourth_ cast that had remained intact only because Phil threatened to taze Clint as often as necessary to keep him from doing something stupid again.

“Yes, but the last time I told him to use crutches, he turned one of them into an overgrown slingshot that _same day_ and then got in trouble for shooting eggs at people in the cafeteria,” Mikayla said, giving Clint an unimpressed look that almost succeeded in hiding her amusement.

“They were soft boiled _and_ peeled,” Clint said quickly, grinning. “Nobody got hurt!”

“Only because you bolted after the last one you fired landed in Fury’s coffee, Birdbrain,” Mikayla pointed out, obviously trying not to laugh. “And then later _I_ had to go tell him you’d be out an extra three weeks because you made your sprained knee worse while you were running from him without the crutches I had told you to use. He was furious.” Clint snickered at that and she smirked, obviously aware of the pun and doing it on purpose. “What guarantee do I have you won’t weaponize them this time if I give you crutches again?”

“He likely will, but at least he won’t be here getting into trouble with them,” Phil said dryly, fighting not to let too much of his amusement show. “I’m well aware of his tendency to cause chaos when he’s bored, Doctor Johnson, so I’ve taken the liberty of giving him off-site accommodations until you clear him for duty.”

“You kicked Clint out of his _home_ , Agent Coulson?!” Mikayla said, looking surprised and suddenly a little angry.

Phil’s eyebrows rose in surprise even as he smiled slightly, pleased that Mikayla cared about Clint beyond the fact he was so often a patient of hers after a mission. Clint was seldom seriously injured, but he often needed stitches or x-rays to verify that his claim an injury was just a bruise wasn’t an attempt to hide broken bones. “No, I have invited him into _my_ home. Clint will be staying with me until he’s back on the duty roster.”

“What if I’m on my very best behavior, sir?” Clint asked, poking his lower lip out comically and pretending to pout at Phil. “I won’t snore _or_ steal the covers, I promise.”

Phil tried hard to look serious, even though he wanted to laugh. “Clint.”

Clint brightened a little. “Yes sir?”

“Do shut up while you still can,” Phil said, unable to keep from smiling despite the threat.

Clint grinned. “Yes sir.”

Mikayla laughed suddenly, drawing Phil’s attention back to her, and he couldn’t quite keep from blushing at the sight of the knowing, pleased smirk on her face. “Why didn’t you just _say_ it was like that, Phil?”

“Because unlike certain _other_ people—” Phil gave Clint a quelling look and then turned his attention back to Mikayla as he went on. “— I have never been in the habit of making my private life public knowledge. It will take some getting used to.”

“It’s not like it’s a _big_ _surprise_ ,” Mikayla pointed out. She was grinning, though not as widely as Clint was. “There’s been a betting pool about you two for as long as I’ve worked here.”

Phil tried to hide his amusement, but he knew he was failing. “Mm, yes, Fury _has_ mentioned it to me.” He looked at Clint and added, “Repeatedly.”

“Is he gonna reassign me to Sitwell again?” Clint asked, obviously a little bit worried. “Or worse, Hill?”

“No,” Phil replied, “I think he learned his lesson last time when you nearly started a _war_ just so Agent Hill would refuse to go on another mission with you.” Clint’s obvious relief was almost comical, but Phil gave him only a moment to enjoy it. “But, unless he has already placed a new bet for this week, he _is_ going to be fairly annoyed at you. He’s tried several times to convince me to make a move but I refused, which puts the blame all on you. According to my sources, Fury placed his _fifth_ bet on last week.”

Clint smirked. “I know, that’s why I waited until I got back to say anything.” Phil couldn’t quite restrain a huff of a laugh, which made Clint’s smirk widen into a smug grin. “That and Tasha told me that she got people to put bets in for her for this week. If I made her lose seven hundred dollars she was going to strip me naked and lock us both in your office until one of us broke, so I figured I’d better grow a pair.”

Mikayla started giggling as Phil smirked slightly at Clint and murmured, “She’ll be buying us dinner, I assume?”

Clint beamed. “Of course, sir. She’ll want you to chose where we go to celebrate, though. I’m a heathen and she’ll expect something special.”

Phil smiled, pleased. “She _does_ know you well. When we let you choose the restaurant, Natasha and I often end up with hot wings or pizza because there’s little else on the menu.”

Clint grinned at Phil. “You know you love a good pie too, sir, don’t lie. When you’re really hungry you can put away almost as much pizza as I do.”

“So it really is a threesome, then?” Mikayla asked, grinning widely and looking extremely curious.

Phil blinked, looking quickly over at Mikayla in surprise. “Do I _look_ like the type to indulge in a threesome?”

Clint snickered. “I guess she thinks one crazy assassin with more relationship issues than the entire cast of _Queer as Folk_ just isn’t enough for _you_ , sir, you need _two_ _of us_ to keep you on your toes.”

Phil let out a strangled little laugh, turning back towards Clint. “One, I have known almost as long as you’ve been _alive_ that I am _almost_ as straight as a wheel and therefore very unlikely to end up in bed with any woman, much less one that could castrate me in my sleep with her _toenails_. Two, while I can and _do_ keep both of you out of trouble as much as I can, I prefer my romantic relationships to involve absolutely no chance I will _ever_ need to make a midnight trip to the store for ice cream and Midol. And _three_ , Natasha’s girlfriend would likely kill us _both_ with her very expensive stiletto heels if she thought we were even considering poaching her property.”

Clint snickered. “Nah, she’s not _that_ dangerous. I mean, sure, Pe—“

“Classified,” Phil reminded, interrupting him firmly, still amused. “No names or identifying characteristics.” He smirked. “And remember what Natasha will do to you for spreading rumors about her girlfriend. She seems rather taken with this one.”

“Mikayla wouldn’t get me killed,” Clint said cheerfully, giving Mikayla a pleased grin. “She didn’t tell anyone about it when I was high on goofy gas and told her that Tasha sometimes sleeps with the giant pink bunny you won for her at the Iowa State Fair.”

Mikayla laughed, moving to reach for the x-ray machine. “Yes, well, _I_ don’t want to die either, Birdbrain.”

Phil snickered softly, sure Natasha would see to it that Clint andMikayla paid dearly for it if _that_ particular bit of trivia ever got out. Natasha was really a sweet, loving person when she felt safe relaxing her guard with someone, but she treasured her well-earned reputation as the most dangerous woman on the planet and would literally kill to keep it.

Phil’s watch vibrated against his wrist suddenly and he glanced down to check the time before he looked at Clint. “I’ve got that debriefing in ten minutes with Sitwell and his team, so do behave yourself, please? I’ll be behind for the rest of the day if I have to drop everything to get you out of trouble.”

“It won’t happen, sir. I want you to get done early today, too,” Clint said with a smile. “When Mikayla’s done with me I’ll head for my quarters to get a few things, then I’ll call a cab.” He smiled wider, adding, “And I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior until I’m safely on your couch.”

“See that you are,” Phil said, smiling as he reached into his pocket for his keys. He quickly separated a ring that held only three keys from the others he carried and then offered the apartment keys to Clint. “Make sure you don’t lose these. I left the other set in Arizona somehow and it would be a hassle to have to break into my own home every night until I have time to get new ones made.”

Clint grinned and took the keys. “I’ll keep track of them, sir.”

“Thank you.” Phil was very aware of Mikayla watching them, but he tried not to let it bother him. “You could go get your own set made today, if you like. It would give you something to do, and I’m sure you’ll need them.”

Clint’s grin shifted into a wide, happy smile as he reached for Phil’s hand and murmured, “Lucky me.”

“I think I’m getting the best of the deal, actually,” Phil disagreed quietly, giving Clint’s hand a squeeze before he let go to walk quickly towards the open door leading out into the infirmary’s waiting room. “Do remember what I said please, Doctor Johnson.”

“I’ll remember, Phil,” Mikayla agreed with a smirk. “No giant chunks of cement to cramp your boyfriend’s style,” she called after him teasingly, making Clint laugh.

“Partner!” Phil corrected as he left the trauma bay, forcing his expression into his usual bland smile just in time nod to the nurses lurking just outside the door. They had obviously been listening, but he continued to the infirmary’s main doors without commenting on their snooping.

The gossip topic for the day was pretty much a given from that moment on, Phil knew, but he couldn’t make himself care. Truth be told, a rather large part of him actually _wanted_ everyone in SHIELD to know that Clint finally belonged to him. He thought knowing Clint was his partner in all ways might convince even Hill to leave Clint alone and let Phil handle him as Phil had often told her to do, and if that happened it would be worth the inevitable rumors. Clint was very nearly fearless on a mission and he would do anything Phil asked him to do, but there wasn’t really anyone else that could make the same claim, not even Fury.

Clint refused to take orders from anyone who saw him as nothing more than an asset to be thrown away when he ceased being useful.

 

~*~*~

 

Fury walked into Phil’s office without bothering to knock later that morning, just after Phil had _finally_ managed to sit down with a cup of coffee.

Phil glanced at the time on his computer monitor and then congratulated himself, reaching for his coffee mug to hide his smile while he took a slow sip. He had been sure that Nick would confront him about the change in his relationship with Clint within two hours of the nurses hearing Phil call Clint his partner, and it always pleased Phil to be right.

Fury folded himself gracefully into the chair in front of Phil’s desk, his one-eyed gaze intent on Phil’s face as he said without preamble, “I hear your favorite archer went home with you last night after he got back from that little paid vacation you sent him on, and now he’s moving in.”

“Until he’s fit for duty again, yes,” Phil said calmly, not bothering to hide his amusement. “We’ll discuss a more permanent arrangement by then, I’m sure. Your point is?”

“You could have given me a heads-up,” Fury replied, looking serious. “I am your boss. And his.”

“So you could try again to rig the betting pool in your favor?” Phil half-asked, smirking slightly. “No.”

“He helped Natasha do it,” Fury pointed out. “You two jokers won her just over four hundred dollars by my count.”

“ _Seven_ hundred, according to Clint,” Phil corrected, letting his smirk grow at the flicker of surprise in Fury’s expression, which of course made Fury scowl. They had been as close as brothers at one point, but there had been too many arguments to count between them since Fury was second-choice to be Director of SHIELD, and it had pushed them apart enough that Phil enjoyed twisting Fury’s tail whenever the opportunity arose. “And she will be taking Clint and I out to dinner somewhere nice to congratulate us,” Phil added just to rub it in a little. “He’ll complain about wearing a suit, but Tasha and I will enjoy the experience.”

Fury snorted, smiling suddenly. “Hell, Barton’ll love it as long as you and that wild woman partner of his are enjoying yourselves.” He paused. “And speaking of your _best_ agent, she needs your help. Her latest report says that she and Potts have Stark under control, but the agents I have working on the household staff tell me that he hasn’t been sober in weeks. I want you to put a stop to it, or at least make him get a handle on it. If Stark drinks himself to death like his father did he’ll be useless to me.”

“I can leave immediately,” Phil said easily, hiding how much it bothered him that Fury still saw Tony as nothing more than a weapon.

Phil wasn’t closely acquainted with Tony by far, but he knew him well enough to be sure that Tony had already had too much of people using him. He had no doubts that Tony was a good man despite Tony’s efforts to convince the world otherwise, and he was very sure that Tony desperately wanted someone – _anyone_ – to value him for himself, not for his looks or his money or what he could do for them. Phil had glimpsed a soul-deep loneliness in Tony’s eyes on more than one occasion, and he knew that watching the woman he loved jump head first into a serious relationship with someone else had to be the worst sort of torture imaginable. Tony was sure to be encouraging Pepper to do anything that would make her happy even though she was ripping his heart out, so it only made sense to Phil that Tony was trying to find solace in a bottle.

Phil didn’t bother to say as much to Fury, though. He knew that Fury didn’t care. “Clint will be going with me, of course,” Phil said instead, cutting off Fury just as he opened his mouth to speak.

Fury didn’t allow any hint of his feelings on the subject to show as he said, “Barton is on medical leave. If you have to take Stark down, Natasha can handle it.”

“I refuse to leave Clint alone here, especially while he’s injured,” Phil said firmly, giving Fury a level look. “I won’t accept the assignment unless he goes with me. We both know he won’t jeopardize the mission.”

Fury just looked at Phil for a long moment before he admitted, “I thought you might insist on taking him with you.”

Phil ruthlessly quashed the flash of annoyance he felt as he realized Fury was just testing him, keeping his expression calm as Fury continued talking.

“You’ve been rather ... _overprotective_ of Barton since that fiasco with Hollister last year.”

“Then it’s settled,” Phil said, refusing to rise to the bait and giving Fury his most bland smile even though a rather large part of him wanted to deck Fury for the reminder.

Fury had gone behind Phil’s back while Phil was out of the country with Natasha and asked Clint to go with Agent Eva Hollister on a mission to neutralize a terrorist cell despite the fact Phil, as Clint’s handler, theoretically had to approve all of Clint’s missions. Clint had known Hollister in passing and thought he could tolerate her for a mission that he was told would only take a few days, but he had still hesitated until Fury told him that Phil had approved the mission. Clint accepted on the spot and then he and Hollister had left for Syria on the next military transport heading east. They reached their insertion point and stepped into their cover identities as arms dealers without a problem, and the mission had gone very well right up until it suddenly didn’t anymore and bullets started flying. Hollister had lied to Clint at the first opportunity after they escaped the initial gunfight, convincing him to run straight into an ambush while she fled in the opposite direction in relative safety.

Clint had been captured and tortured and then spent two days hanging by his wrists in a deserted warehouse waiting for Hollister to lead in a recovery team before he overheard his captors talking about how Clint’s partner had practically given him to them so she would have time to get out of the country. Clint’s anger as he thought back over Hollister’s behavior and realized he had been played had spurred him into escaping, and then he had completed the mission. Clint had called Natasha to find out if Hollister had reported in, which was how he had learned that Hollister had already reported him dead and called for extraction. Clint had headed for the extraction site Hollister had been given and then ended up carrying her to the waiting SEAL team because she had twisted her ankle trying to run away from Clint after he found her.

The whole mission had greatly increased Clint’s value as an ‘asset’ as far as Fury was concerned, but it had also come very close to destroying Clint’s ability to trust people. Clint had returned to New York with his faith shaken in everyone except for Natasha, even Phil, and then at the debriefing Hollister had made it worse by claiming the whole situation was Clint’s fault because he went against her orders. Clint’s quick denial and angry explanation of what _really_ happened, including the fact Fury had told him Phil approved the mission to get Clint to go, had been enlightening for Phil to say the least.

Phil had been so furious that he wanted to walk out of SHIELD for good and take Clint and Natasha with him, but he knew that would never be allowed to happen even as he had told Fury that he refused to be a part of any organization that would employ Hollister. Fury had called security in and fired Hollister on the spot, ignoring her protests as she was escorted out and then continuing with the debriefing as if nothing had happened. Phil had been given complete control of Clint’s assignments ever since, but he knew that sooner or later Fury would attempt to order Clint into trouble without him again and force Phil’s hand.

“Doctor Johnson told me Barton is supposed to stay off that busted foot for the next six weeks,” Fury pointed out, distracting Phil from his memories. “He can’t do that if he’s following you around.”

“Clint can just as easily rest in my hotel room as he can on my couch,” Phil replied.

“There won’t _be_ any hotel room,” Fury said. “Potts has offered you a guest room in Stark’s mansion and I want you to take it. If you insist on Barton going along, then you two can share it.”

“Alright,” Phil agreed, hiding his relief that Fury wasn’t fighting him. “I’m sure Clint will be able to stay out of Stark’s way.”

Fury seemed to think of something then, his good eye narrowing in a way that made Phil nervous as Fury said very slowly, “No, I think maybe Stark and Barton should spend some time together.” Fury fell silent for a moment and then nodded, beginning to smile. “Yeah, I want you to encourage them to _bond_ a little, give Barton a chance to learn what really makes Stark tick. He should be able to handle Stark’s particular brand of crazy easy enough, and it’ll be easier for him to hunt Stark down if he knows how Stark thinks.”

Phil nodded, carefully hiding his personal feelings on the subject. “Alright. When do we leave?”

Tony _could_ be one of the most obnoxious men Phil had ever known, worse than Fury when things got particularly bad, but Natasha’s reports had made Phil realize that Tony had reason for most of his apparent insanity, much like Clint did. Phil would never tell Fury, but he had a sneaking suspicion that if Clint and Tony _did_ ‘bond’, Fury would quickly begin to regret it. Phil thought that Clint and Tony might well understand each other much better than Fury wanted them to, which could ruin Fury’s happy little dream of having a team of superheroes that would answer only to him. Phil knew that he would be the one assigned to keep the superheroes in line by any means necessary, but he also knew Clint would be on the team, and no one could push Phil into going against Clint’s best interests, not even Fury.

“Potts has a late lunch meeting with two over-paid Wall Street lawyers on Monday in a private room at the 21 Club. You’ll be meeting her there afterwards and flying back to Malibu with her,” Fury said, standing up abruptly. “And until I say otherwise, I don’t want to hear a word about you _or_ Barton being in this building. Agent Hill is taking over your duties as Assistant Director and is discussing her new schedule with your secretary as we speak. As of now, you are a field handler again and I expect you to see to it that Barton and Romanov complete their mission successfully.”

Phil’s eyebrows rose in surprise even as he smiled. “I didn’t know you cared so much, Nick.”

Phil knew a bribe when he was offered one, but in this case he had no qualms about accepting despite the fact it would look like a demotion to anyone else. Fury owed him a good long break and being in the field would give Phil much more time to spend with Clint and Natasha, who even Fury had admitted worked better with Phil than with anyone else. Phil had been taken out of the field because Fury wanted Phil to be his right-hand man and help train all of his operatives to be as deadly and as successful as Clint and Natasha were, and Phil was glad that Fury had finally decided to admit the mistake. Phil’s ‘pet assassins’ had a well-deserved reputation as being the most deadly duo in the world, but Clint and Natasha quite simply didn’t trust anyone except each other and Phil, and most of the skills that had so often kept them alive in impossible situations simply could not be taught.

Fury snorted. “That’s because I don’t.” He turned to go as he added, “I just want you to get your boy out of here before he gets bored and goes looking for trouble. If he shoots another runny egg at me I’m gonna break his neck, and it’d be a shame to lose the best sniper the world has ever seen because he’s an idiot.”

Phil forced a laugh despite his annoyance at Fury calling Clint his ‘boy’ again, watching Fury close the door behind him and then listening to be sure the lock engaged. He let the smile on his face disappear as soon as the lock clicked into place, frowning as he stared at the door in silence. Fury didn’t have a very high opinion of Clint despite the fact he recognized that Clint’s professional abilities were beyond compare, and it bothered Phil a little more each time that Fury threw it in his face that he saw Clint as nothing more than an asset.

After a few moments Phil pushed his annoyance aside and turned his attention to his computer, one hand moving to the mouse even as he reached into jacket with the other hand to get his phone. He quickly used the mouse to click the appropriate buttons on the computer screen to lock it down and then turned off the computer before he finally looked down at his phone, pressing his thumb to the screen and waiting patiently as the print was processed and then the lock was disabled.

Phil selected Clint’s name from his contact list and then texted, ‘ _Where are you?’_

Clint replied immediately. ‘ _my quarters unhooking my xbox and staying out of trouble. sir.’_

Phil smiled at the ‘sir’ Clint had tacked on at the end, still a little surprised by how much he was starting to realize he liked it now that he knew more about why Clint so often called him that. Clint had been careful to deny that it had anything to do with being submissive, but no matter what Clint needed to call it, it still broke down to the simple fact Clint wanted to give himself completely into Phil’s care. _‘I’ll be there in a few minutes to help you pack. Fury’s given us the weekend off and then on Monday he’s sending us to California to back up Natasha. You’ll need your good suits and your laptop, we’ll be there a while.’_

_‘wtf do i need suits for?! youre the spiffy secret agent man not me! tasha says stark spends most of his time playing greasemonkey or drunk off his ass and screwing around with whatever piece of fluff he can pick up. i could wear raggedy old boxers around him and i bet he wouldnt notice it cause i dont have tits.’_

_‘Just dig out the suits_ ,’ Phil replied, barely noticing the fact he was smirking. _‘I’ll make it worth your while when I tell you to wear them, I promise.’_

‘ _ill wear them if you get naked with me afterwards sir. otherwise its jeans and tshirts.’_

‘ _You’ll wear the suits because I want you to,_ ’ Phil pointed out, amused. ‘ _And you’ll be naked in our bed every night for the same reason.’_

‘ _hot damn! would you like me to wear my fancy silk date-night shorts too? all other clothing optional of course sir.’_

Phil laughed. He had been teasing, at least partially, but if sex was all it took to bribe Clint into a suit, he was suddenly seeing a lot more fancy restaurants in their future. ‘ _I’ll be there in a few minutes and I expect you to be fully dressed. We’ll be home soon enough, then you can strip to your shorts if you want.’_

There was a much longer pause than normal before Clint’s next text. _‘does that mean i can call your place home too, phil?’_

Phil had intended to wait before he suggested Clint should move in, but he realized suddenly that he didn’t want to ever again waste a moment that he could be spending with Clint. They already knew how each of them took their coffee and the quiet little noises the other one made in their sleep, and he was sure they would be happier together than they could possibly be apart. _‘I’d be honored if you would, Clint. I can’t think of many things that I want more than I want to wake up to you in my arms every morning.’_

_‘sounds like heaven to me sir.’_

Phil smiled. _‘It’s settled then. I’d rather not take time to move your things this weekend, but I’ll be glad to help when we get back from California.’_

_‘good plan. mickey gave me strict orders not to put weight on my foot though so i won’t be much help. the damn crutches make carrying anything but me kinda hard.’_

‘ _I’ll see to it that boxes are waiting in my office when we return,’_ Phil replied, smiling. _‘And I’ll move your things myself. Your quarters are almost as bare as my own have been, so I’m sure there’s room in the apartment for everything.’_

‘ _never saw the point to buying much shit. nowhere ever really felt like home until last night with you.’_

Phil’s smile softened into something gentle and sweet even though he was alone. _‘I feel the same way about being with you, Clint. We’ll turn the apartment into our home together.’_

‘ _ill hold you to that,_ ’ Clint replied. _‘see you soon.’_

‘ _Ten minutes, at the most,_ ’ Phil agreed.

‘ _ill be waiting sir. >:D ’_

_‘Dressed!’_

_‘spoilsport.’_

_‘No, just well aware of the limits of my willpower and the fact that there are cameras almost everywhere in this building.’_

_‘IN MY ROOM TOO?! FURY IS SUCH A PERVERT!’_

Phil laughed as he tucked his phone away in his jacket again, and then he began to gather the waiting paperwork to hand off to Hill on his way out. A few moments later he rose to leave, sure that Hill could handle whatever came along and looking forward to his well-earned long weekend alone with Clint.

Even the prospect of flying to California to baby-sit Stark afterwards couldn’t dim his wide, happy smile.

 

~*~*~

 

Phil drove slowly past the usually closed barricade at the rear entrance to SHIELD’s parking garage, nodding to acknowledge the beaming guard’s salute even as he murmured, “Remind me to make sure he gets a reprimand for not checking our identification.”

“He _knows_ who you are,” Clint pointed out, grinning. “His superiors use you as the boogey man to keep rookies like him from sleeping on guard duty.”

Phil snorted and eased the car out into traffic. ”Yes, but I still find myself wanting to tell him to drop and give me fifty. I know I was never that wet behind the ears.”

Clint snickered. “We were _all_ that young and dumb, sir. That’s how they got us to sign on that damn dotted line to fight for God and country and Haliburton’s profit margin.”

Phil laughed and let the car roll to a stop at the next light, turning his head towards Clint with a wry smile. “Mostly for the profit margin.”

“Knew you remembered it, sir,” Clint agreed, smirking. “Green light.”

Phil looked quickly up at the light and then started the car forward again. “I would have seen that if I weren’t so distracted by you.”

Clint sounded smug as he said cheerfully, “Thank you, sir.” Phil smiled a little wider but didn’t look at Clint, who surprised him a moment later by asking, “What’s the plan for today, anyway?”

“I’d like to make a stop in Brooklyn on the way home,” Phil replied, “but other than that I have no plans other than spending time with you.” He stole a glance at Clint, who was looking out the window with a wide pleased grin, and then he put his attention back on the cars around them. “What would you like to do? Keep in mind that you _are_ staying off your feet as much as possible.”

“Lunch would be good,” Clint said, sounding so amused that Phil glanced at him again. Clint was smirking, a wicked glint in his eyes as he added, “There’s that café you like a block up from the deli, or we could just get sandwiches while we’re getting your bagels.”

Phil stared at Clint for a moment, surprised, and then forced himself to turn his attention back to where they were going. “How did you know I wanted to go by Montague Bagels?”

“I pay attention to what you like,” Clint pointed out quietly, making Phil look at him again. Clint’s smirk had faded into a pleased little smile as he added, “And you’re out of bagels, which you enjoy for breakfast and _always_ buy at Montague Bagels if you’re in the city.” He smiled wider, adding, “And you like that café, too, or I wouldn’t even know it’s there.”

Phil looked at the road long enough to merge into the correct lane to go over the Brooklyn Bridge without having to make any more turns until they were across the river, and then he turned back towards Clint again. “I wanted to know what _you_ would like today, Clint. I know you like variety.”

“I do, but I’m not picky,” Clint said with an easy shrug. “I can find something to eat pretty much anywhere. The pizza at the café is kinda fru-fru for me, but their burgers and onion rings are great, and the bagel place makes terrific sandwiches.”

“There are plenty of other places nearby if you’d like to try somewhere new,” Phil pointed out as he glanced at the cars in front of them. Traffic was flowing smoothly over the bridge at that time of day, so he felt safe putting most of his attention back on Clint as he offered Clint his hand. They still hadn’t done much more than kiss and touch each other, not even in the shower that morning, but Phil had already learned that Clint craved contact just as much as Phil did. “We’ll pass _dozens_ of restaurants on the way home.”

“Yeah, but I know much you like that café,” Clint repeated, still smiling as he laced their fingers together. “I don’t mind eating there if you want to, but if you’re not in the mood we could always just get sandwiches or call for delivery.”

Phil just looked at Clint for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the car in front of them with a soft little laugh, still holding Clint’s hand. “Now that you mention it, I like the idea of relaxing at home with you while we eat.” Calling for takeout would also mean that Clint didn’t have to walk into a restaurant, but he wasn’t going to point that part out.

“Then we got it covered,” Clint said cheerfully, giving Phil’s hand a squeeze as they left the bridge behind them. “I saw that stack of menus you’ve got in the kitchen. If we can’t find something we want in there, we’re not hungry enough to bother eating.”

“I’m definitely hungry,” Phil said, smirking slightly as he merged into the right lane. The next off ramp led back towards the East River and Henry Street, which would take them through Brooklyn Heights all the way to Montague. “I don’t think we’ll have a problem passing the time until our lunch is delivered, though.”

“I was just thinking the same thing, sir.” Clint sounded so smug and pleased that Phil was very sure he was smirking, but he didn’t look at him again to see, instead just running his thumb over Clint’s knuckles as he forced himself to pay attention to traffic, which he knew would get worse as they drove further into Brooklyn.

There would be plenty of time for him to enjoy looking at Clint once they were home, after all.

 

~*~*~

 

Phil unlocked the second deadbolt and then led the way into their apartment, holding the door open for Clint because it tended to swing shut on its own. He watched Clint follow him inside and then closed the door, pleased all over again by how effortlessly Clint was moving. Being on crutches would have slowed down most people considerably, but Clint had more than enough upper body strength and agility to keep his weight off of his injured foot while still moving with his usual speed. Even climbing stairs had been easy for Clint, and his willingness to use the crutches had relieved much of Phil’s worry about how he’d keep Clint from hurting himself worse until his foot had healed.

Phil shifted the tote bag of bagels that was hanging from his left wrist into his other hand with the bag of meats, cheese, and drinks, and then he put his left hand low on Clint’s back and pushed him gently forward. “Sit down, I’ll put things away.”

Clint made a face but let Phil guide him couch, looking amused as he grumbled, “I busted my foot, I’m not _dying_.”

Phil chuckled softly, waiting for Clint to sit down and then leaning down to smile at Clint as he murmured, “The only dying allowed on our couch is _la petite mort_.”

Phil kissed Clint then, enjoying the low pleased noise Clint made and the way he stretched upwards. Phil moved a little closer so Clint could reach him more easily, allowing Clint to deepen the kiss and then getting lost in Clint’s addictive mouth, if only for a few minutes. He eventually noticed he was still holding the tote bags of food and he finally made himself pull away, pretending not to hear Clint’s regretful sigh as he turned and walked towards the kitchen. Kissing Clint had made Phil want to do so much more, and he knew Clint agreed completely, but he needed to get the food put away before they truly forgot everything but each other.

The food at the bagel shop had smelled so good that they hadn’t been able to resist it, so they had already eaten lunch despite their plans to call for take out at home. Phil had decided on a chicken salad wrap with bacon, lettuce, and tomato on it that had been just as delicious as it sounded, and he knew Clint had been just as pleased with his hero piled high with a pound of roast beef, roasted sweet peppers, and American cheese. There hadn’t been any tables in the deli, but there were shady stairs just outside that had turned out to be a fairly comfortable spot to eat their lunch, with the added bonus that Clint hadn’t had to walk far. After they finished their sandwiches they had returned inside the deli to get sandwich fixings to take home, and by the time they left they had ended up with nearly fifty dollars worth of food that Phil definitely didn’t want to waste.

Phil made quick work of putting the lunchmeats, cheeses, bread, lox, butter, mayo, and soft drinks in the fridge and then put the bagels in the freezer, glad that he had remembered to have them sliced at the deli. He carried the empty tote bags back to the apartment door to hang them on the knob where he would remember to put them back in the car, and then when he turned around, he smiled.

Clint was watching him, looking very comfortable sprawled on their couch with a wry little smile on his face that made his eyes sparkle. He had already taken his lone combat boot and sock off and had put one of his crutches in the floor under the edge of the couch, obviously intending to leave it there.

“What are you thinking?” Phil asked, deciding not to argue about the crutch. Clint would use both crutches when they left the apartment, he would make sure of that, but until then he didn’t think it would hurt anything to let Clint have his way. The apartment wasn’t large, after all, and they would be spending most of the afternoon either on the couch or in bed anyway.

“How much I want you to stop everything else and get over here,” Clint replied, smiling a little wider. “And how typical it is that you’re going on about your routine like I’m not even here.”

Phil laughed and walked slowly towards the couch. “I remembered you’re here, I promise. I just wanted to get everything else taken care of so I can focus all of my attention on you.”

“I’m liking the sound of that,” Clint murmured with a little smirk, lifting one hand to hook his fingers in Phil’s belt as soon as he was close enough and then tugging. “Do you want me here, or in bed?”

“You choose,” Phil said, letting Clint guide him over to stand between Clint’s knees. He reached out to rest his hands on Clint’s shoulders and leaned even closer as he stared down into Clint’s eyes, almost mesmerized by the desire he saw so plainly in them.

Clint reached up to grab Phil’s tie with his free hand, wrapping it around his fist with one deft move to gently pull Phil down as he said, “Bed.” He kissed Phil then, rough in that perfect way that made Phil’s knees go a little weak, and then Clint suddenly ended the kiss to lean even closer, nuzzling Phil’s ear as he growled huskily, “I want to suck your dick so bad I can almost taste it, sir.”

Phil swallowed back a groan, taking a shaky breath before he whispered, “God, yeah.”

Clint kissed him again, quick and hard, and then let go of Phil’s tie as he smirked up at him. “Then go get naked and get your ass in bed, sir, so I can suck your cock until you forget everything but my name.”

Phil shuddered slightly, pulling away from Clint and already reaching up to loosen his tie as he started towards the bedroom. “If you keep talking like that and calling me sir at the same time, it just might backfire on both of us.”

Clint snickered, grabbing the crutch he had leaned against the end of the couch and then levering himself up to follow Phil as he teased, “I wish I had known a long time ago how much you _really_ like me calling you sir.”

Phil let out a strangled little laugh, tossing his tie onto the dresser and then beginning to empty his pockets. “Not as much as I wish _I_ had known.” He looked over his shoulder at Clint, who had already dropped his crutch against the bed, and then watched Clint jerk his t-shirt off over his head as he said dryly, “No one has ever called me _sir_ while they were ordering me to get naked before.”

Clint grinned wickedly at Phil as he threw his shirt into the hamper in the corner. “Can’t say that anymore.” He grinned even wider, reaching for the button on his jeans as he added in a low purr, “Sir.”

Phil groaned and made himself look away from Clint before he forgot what he should be doing, removing his suit coat as he said, “You will be the death of me yet.”

“Never,” Clint murmured as Phil heard the rustle of his jeans falling to the floor.

Phil didn’t let himself turn to look even though he wanted to, reaching for the top button of his shirt as he smiled. “It wouldn’t be so bad. I’d die happy.”

Clint surprised him by moving in close behind him then, reaching for Phil’s hip to try to turn him around as the crutch dropped against the dresser with a quiet thud. Phil stopped unbuttoning his shirt and followed the pull, turning to face Clint, who was wearing only his boxers and looked very serious as he gazed into Phil’s eyes. “Don’t say stuff like that, please. You’re not _allowed_ to die on me, Phil. I couldn’t take it.”

Phil lifted one hand to cup Clint’s jaw as he murmured, “I’m sorry, Clint. You’re right, I shouldn’t joke about it.” He ran his thumb along Clint’s cheekbone, watching the way Clint tilted his head to lean into his touch and thinking about all the times he had come so close to losing him. “I feel the same way, you know,” he added after a long moment. “Life wouldn’t be worth living anymore without you.”

“So we’ll watch each other’s backs, and maybe we’ll both see the back side of ninety,” Clint said quietly.

Phil smiled and didn’t point out he would hit that milestone long before Clint did. “Deal.”

Phil leaned in to kiss Clint then, keeping it soft and gentle as he slid his arms around Clint and pulled gently, hoping Clint would take the hint. Clint hummed into the kiss, sounding pleased as he swayed closer, and Phil let him deepen the kiss a little as he relaxed, forgetting about undressing for the moment. He wanted to get naked and fall into bed with Clint, of course, but they had all weekend to explore each other and at that moment kissing Clint felt too good to bother trying to move things along.

Clint seemed to have other ideas, though, and after a few minutes his hands moved between them to begin unbuttoning Phil’s shirt. Phil smiled into the kiss and started to pull back to help get rid of his clothes, but Clint swayed to follow him, stepping forward and letting out a soft pained noise as he put weight on his injured foot.

Phil pulled away then, moving his hands to Clint’s hips to hold him still. “Sit down and get off that foot.” He turned his head to look for Clint’s crutch, then grabbed it and offered it to Clint as he added, “I’ll take care of my clothes.”

Clint sighed and accepted the crutch. “Okay.” He tucked the crutch under his left arm and took a step closer to Phil, careful to keep his left foot off the floor as he kissed Phil lightly and then teased, “At least I get to watch you get naked again, sir.”

Phil chuckled and gave Clint a gentle push towards the bed. “Shut up and get your perfect ass in my bed.”

“ _Our_ bed,” Clint corrected, smirking as he used the crutch to take the three steps he needed to get to the bed.

Phil began unbuttoning his shirt again, smirking slightly too as he watched Clint turn around. “Our bed,” he agreed, “even though we haven’t properly broken it in yet.”

Clint dropped his crutch against the bed and then reached for the waist of his borrowed boxers, still smirking as he began to push them down. “The day is young, sir.”

Phil groaned softly, unable to keep his gaze from roaming down over Clint’s body even though he had seen it all before. Clint worked hard to stay in perfect shape and it showed on every inch of his battle-scarred body, each muscle defined without the over-blown development so many strong men seemed to fall prey to. Clint’s body was the closest thing Phil had ever seen to perfection, at least in his opinion, and he had seen Thor strip-searched so he had an actual demigod to compare to. Clint had never been shy about his body, but Phil hadn’t really allowed himself to _enjoy_ how perfect it was until their shower that morning, and seeing Clint aroused again and knowing it was because of him was still a heady rush that had Phil’s breathing speeding up.

After an embarrassingly long moment Phil finally managed to shake himself out of it a little, his fingers moving more quickly on the buttons of his shirt as he admitted, “I wish I was ten years younger. You’re giving me all kinds of ideas and it’s going to be ha— _difficult_ to choose what to try first.”

Clint sat down on the edge of the bed, kicking his boxers away with a smug little grin. “I thought you said _I_ get to choose, sir.”

Phil shrugged out of the shirt and let it fall to the floor, already reaching for his undershirt. He jerked the plain white t-shirt up over his head and off, flinging it towards his hamper and then reaching for his belt as he stared into Clint’s hungry eyes. “Alright. What do you want first, then?”

“I want to suck your cock like I said,” Clint responded immediately, shifting on the bed to lean back on his elbows and display his body to Phil while he watched Phil open the button on his slacks. “I won’t get you off that way though, sir, ‘cause I want you to fuck me, too.”

Phil hurriedly toed out of his shoes and socks and then shoved his suit pants and boxers down at once, kicking them aside even though he was usually much more careful with Dolce. As soon as he was naked he started moving towards Clint as he asked quietly, “Have you done that before, Clint?”

“Not with a guy.” Clint licked his lips, his gaze on Phil’s erection as Phil stopped by the bed between Clint’s knees. “I’ve traded my share of blowjobs but I never met a man I trusted enough to fuck me until you.”

“But you have been fucked?” Phil half-asked, enjoying the look in Clint’s eyes as he jerked his gaze up to Phil’s eyes. He wanted to reach out and start touching Clint but he restrained himself, at least for the moment. He wanted to know what kind of experience Clint had before they went much farther for the simple reason he was pretty sure that once they did touch he would forget everything but how incredible Clint could make him feel.

“Yeah,” Clint admitted quietly, still looking into Phil’s eyes. “Natasha introduced me to it.” He blushed. “She really got a kick out of how it turns me into a total slut, so she started packing and fucked me whenever we had a chance until we stopped having sex.”

Phil put one knee on the bed, moving to brace his right hand by Clint’s shoulder as he leaned over Clint. “I thought it was probably her.” He smiled as he wondered if Natasha had been the one to decide they were going back to being friends. They still often slept together, and Natasha usually wanted Clint to hold her on the rare occasion when she was truly upset about something, but Phil knew that they had stopped having sex about a year ago. “And I’m glad to hear you liked it.”

Clint shifted to lift his left hand and reach for Phil’s shoulder, urging him closer as he corrected with a sheepish little grin, “No sir, I _loved_ it. I can’t wait to find out what the real thing is like.”

Phil smirked. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” He stopped teasing them both then and leaned down the rest of the way, kissing Clint lovingly as he moved his free hand to Clint’s side and then started to explore, enjoying the feel of how the smooth skin of his side contrasted against the soft hair scattered over Clint’s firmly muscled chest.

Clint let Phil keep the kiss fairly innocent until Phil’s fingertips found Clint’s nipple and pinched it gently, making Clint growl and surge upwards to flip them. Phil found himself on his back with Clint sprawled over him, straddling his hips while Clint kissed him slow and deep, pulling low hungry sounds from them both as their hands began to roam further.

It didn’t take them long to get completely lost in what they were doing, forgetting about everything but each other.

 

~ End


End file.
